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Genesis , Exodus

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Genesis & Exodus

The beginning, before Silky

I hate big cities. I hate them all. Of all the big cities I hate, I hate Chicago the most. Nowhere else can you freeze between the door and the cab; nowhere else does the L go on forever; nowhere else can eating a lousy meal by yourself take four hours and cost forty bucks.

Why I ever thought that moving there would lead to fame and fortune, I don’t remember. I’ve got plenty of money. I didn’t sell my home back in Alabama, I just moved there to a crappy one bedroom apartment with the train outside the window and graffiti on the walls. I rented a PO Box for “Great George Industries.” Talk about grandiose!

At least I had told myself to limit the amount I would waste, so I had put a hundred thou or so in the GG account and got a Business Visa to charge to. At least I wasn’t using my serious money.

I do believe that things happen for a reason. Why else did I come to this cold, lonely concrete prison? Why else did I take my rental car down the wrong street and stop at that one particular corner? Why else was it on that night?

I had been in Chicago long enough to have gone through the hundred years of winter. I had seen both days of spring and summer, and now knew that this was one of the last times I could drive with the windows down; not that anything except noise, dirt, and stink ever came in. Until that night.

I stopped at that fateful gerrymander, getting my bearings, knowing I was lost but too angry to admit it, sorry I had not opted to get a GPS, when among all the racket came an aerosol of syrup sweeter than a virgin’s ass.

“Hey My es ter! Ya’ll waa unt soome Soo there un Com for unt too wa um ya’ll up too ny et? It was the sound of home! I translated to ‘hey mister do ya’ll want some Southern Comfort to warm ya’ll up tonight?’ in my head.

This amazing girl was sticking her head in my open window. How she could put that much breast into such a small space I didn’t know. How she could consider that clothing I didn’t care. Twin sapphires burned into my eyes, and her smile made the inside of the car warm all by itself. Her long blonde hair formed a diaphanous halo for her head.

“Well, mister? What do you say? For $200 I can make you forget your wife and your girlfriend.”

Suddenly everything clicked and I knew what to do; I realized that all my life had been just a prelude to this moment. My years in Rotary Club, on the Chamber of Commerce Board, on the City Council, counted for nothing. Here stood a hooker, a street whore with a background somewhere in the South, who was offering herself to me for $200.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 18. Want to see my ID?”

“What do I get for $200?” I asked.

“Anything you can imagine,” she replied with a little roll to her shoulders to be sure I saw her tits.

“How much for a weekend?”

She didn’t bat an eye. “$3000. But I have to tell Big John where I’m going.” I’d hate to play poker with her.

“No. Get in now and you’ll get $3000. Walk away and I’m gone to the next girl.”

She got in.

There, now, I made the decision that has colored, no, painted in brilliant hues, the important part of my life. There and then the tipping point, the moment that defined everything else. I did something I had never done before nor have I since. tuzla escort Screw a prostitute? Get a back alley blow-job? No! Worse! I Kidnapped her!

As we left the city, she asked where we were going.

“I’m taking you home with me. You belong to me now.”

“Big John will kill you, and beat the shit out of me.”

“You’re never going to see Big John again. You’ll never work as a ‘ho again. And Big John will have to kill me to get to you, and he can’t.”

Those blue lanterns looked out the window for at least five minutes, calm and resolute, calculating.

“Cool,” was all she said.

I turned onto the Dan Ryan and picked up I-80. The girl who had no name curled up and went to sleep. In for a penny, I guessed. I took the I-65 and didn’t stop until I got to Indianapolis, and there pulled into the Hertz at the airport. They were pissed that I returned a local Chicago rental there, but if you pay enough, people put up with being pissed.

I pulled the girl with the golden hair with me to Avis, and rented a new car.

When we were ten miles down the road, she spoke for the first time in Indiana. “Covering your tracks?”

She wasn’t stupid. The car was rented to GG industries, on the GG card, that only had a PO Box. They could eventually find the crappy apartment but it was an empty tomb. Somebody would know the tag number, and look for it. I rented the Avis under my name on my card, so the trail was dead. I doubted Big John would look that hard, but he might.

In Seymour, I gave out. I pulled off the ramp into a Holiday Inn Express, and checked into a room. Two beds.

“I’ve got to get some sleep. Don’t talk to anyone, please. Are you hungry?”

“Naw, I’m good. I just need to pee.”

“Help yourself”

“You wanna watch?”

Of course I knew she would sexualize things. See the world as she knew it. Figure there had to be payback, but there wasn’t. I took her because it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want a slave or a sex toy. I was a good guy. I didn’t take her for me.

“No,” was all I said.

When I woke up, I realized she wasn’t in the room. Then I heard the shower, and relaxed a little. She came out in a cloud of steam, hair wrapped in one towel, body in the other. Where do women learn to do that? Is there a special class guys don’t get?

“Very nice shower!” She said. Apparently she didn’t waste words. “Do you have a name?”

“George.”

“George. Monique.” She didn’t offer a hand, just nodded.

“That’s over. Your name is… Jessica. Like Jessica Rabbit. ‘Not bad, just drawn that way.’ In the movie?”

“I don’t watch a lot of movies, where I live.”

“You don’t live there any more, remember?”

‘Oh, yeah. So now what?”

Unfortunately, I had no answer to that. Sleep had restored my energy, but had not offered any solutions.

“I’m taking you to Alabama. I’m hearing a Mississippi accent, right?”

“Yasssuh.”

“Any family?”

“No.”

“Any friends?”

“No.”

“Well, I guess you’ll live in Alabama with me.” I realized the ‘with me’ as I said it. I had no idea.

Well, George, I hope you slept well,” she said as she let the towel drop. The one on her body. God, what a body! I think her legs started at her armpits, but then where did those marvelous tuzla escort bayan tits join in? Her accoutrements were absolutely hydraulic and there was so much skin! Her shaved crotch had not a hint of pubes, and the cinnabar of her slit was obvious. I shook.

“Jessica, please put on your clothes.” I was a good guy.

“You gonna make me?”

What the hell? How was I going to make her put on clothes?

“I said please.”

“Nope!”

What to do? If I could only stop staring at all that pale pink skin! At those nipples that perfectly centered her dark areolas. At that hairless pussy. At the sweet and succulent symmetry of her thighs.

I tried holding out her skirt. She shook her head. I tried to grab her, to force her. Eighteen year old naked girls have no handles. Everything you grab is wrong. After fifteen frustrating minutes I had only managed to be even more aware of her skin, its smoothness, its warmth.

“I guess I’m just a bad girl, George. You ever spank a bad girl?”

What is the movie where the girl (Madonna?) said she could tell who liked rough sex, even if they didn’t know it themselves? She was right! My erection heard that question loud and clear. I had never even thought of such a thing. I was one of the good guys.

She turned and bent over the bed, the one she had slept in alone. She rubbed her incredible derrière with her palm, and patted it gently.

“You want to smack this ass, George? Listen!” And she slapped herself. The noise consumed my world, the loudest detonation I ever heard.

“Or this?” and she smacked her butt with her belt, and left a small red line, like the edge of heaven. “Oh, that feels so good! It makes me so slick between my legs! I like being spanked, because I’m a bad bad girl!”

How the hell a good guy could wind up whipping a working girl on her defenseless stark-naked cheeks with her own belt in a motel in Seymour, Indiana, I don’t know. But I do know it made him harder than he had ever been before, and that each blow was harder than the last, and that he pounded on her flesh until his arms gave out, and then thrust his bursting cock into her wanton wet cunt, and shoved and shoved and shoved and shoved until he exploded in her crevice and blasted every gram of his anger and hate and fear and loneliness into her depths, and collapsed weeping on the bed with her enfolded by his arms.

The path of righteousness can be as hard to find as a winding mountain trail at midnight in a pouring rain.

We changed cars again in Nashville. Better safe than dead. We ran thru a Wal-Mart and grabbed some clothes; I didn’t know until then that she was pantiless. Finally we pulled in the drive in Sweet Home, Alabama. I didn’t know what to do, but at least it was warm outside.

I spent days as a spy. I worked out how to get a fake birth certificate, and from that a driver’s license, and from that an official name change. “Jessica George Rabbit” now had an identity that did not tie to her old life at all. She had never finished school; I got her a GED test, which she passed effortlessly.

One day she dropped a plate and broke it. “Gesú Bambino! Maledizione! Maria Più Santo!”

I looked at her in astonishment. “Parli l’Italiano?”

“Si. Io lo so bene.”

“How did you learn Italian?”

“I escort tuzla told you I didn’t watch many movies. Knowing Italian is useful in Chicago.”

Gradually we learned each other. I learned that Big John had forced her to always use condoms, as “a sick ‘ho don’t make money.” So I had one good thing to say for him. He also told her she was “worth more on her knees than her back.” He was right; she could do things with her mouth on my penis that left me lying exhausted for hours.

I gave up the idea that a good guy wouldn’t have sex with her. God built her to satisfy my hunger, and who am I to disagree with Him?

We had a honeymoon, a spiritual and sexual saturnalia, a bacchanal where our kisses were the only wine, but were enough. The Goddess Venus would have wept with jealousy.

Have you ever been fucked with a dildo up your ass? I have. Have you ever jerked off into a beautiful girl’s face while she willingly smiles and urges you on with words so nasty I can’t repeat them? I have.

Have you ever been strapped tightly to a bed, while an Angel with legs longer than time lowers herself onto your cock as slowly as ice melting, and then stops when her lower lips just kiss your knob? And then lever herself up and down just a fraction of an inch, until you lose your mind? Until you were so desperate that you begged, pleaded, and promised her furs, cars, houses if she would just drop one inch down, and have her smile and ignore you, and continue to graze your glans until an evacuation starts inside your balls and ass and guts and spews with such Herculean force that it could have stopped the Earth in its orbit? I Have.

I have cum in her ass, her mouth, between her tits and in her hands. I frotterized her buttocks, and shot semen all over her back. I’ve fallen down in the shower chasing her slippery body around, and she has soaped my dick until I blew holes in the bathroom wall.

I learned that she liked the whippings. Not beatings, not masochism. She got aroused when the tip of a belt caught her exactly on the crease between ass-cheek and leg, veridically behind her vagina. I purchased a small whip and made her orgasm with cogent proper (or improper) slashes. And I squirted on the floor, just seeing her response.

We had a very good time. I fell in Love, and didn’t know what it was. And Jessica loved me. She really did, and does.

“George, do you know that girl that lives down the street? The little red head?”

“I’ve met her, I think. I know her dad vaguely, went to a ball game at his house once. She has one of those ‘designer’ names, like Paris or Kimberly; Silly, maybe, or Slinky, no, Silky, that’s it. Like the cloth. Why?”

“That is the most adorable girl I’ve ever seen; She doesn’t have a clue, but she wants to fuck like a timber wolf.”

This said with absolute certainty, although I wasn’t sure about the timber wolf part. “How can you tell?”

“Duh. I worked for Big John. She would be on her back in ten minutes flat, if she had the chance.”

“How do you know this?”

“I followed her. She came by the house yesterday, walking down to the store. Don’t worry, she didn’t see me. But I looked at her walk, the swing of her rear end, the bounce of her boobs. I watched boys watch her. She puts out a vapor of pheromones that leaves guys walking into walls and tripping over their feet, and she doesn’t notice at all. We need to hook up with her! Why don’t you ask her?”

“Ask her to have sex with me? How would I do that?”

“You’re a smart boy, George. You got me; now I want her.”

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